


It's More Than a Feeling

by Chaotic_Jew



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Background Relationships, Canon Gay Relationship, Craig Tucker Being An Asshole, Craig X tweek s19e06 didnt happen, FTM Wendy Testaburger, Gen, Highschool AU, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, MTF Butters Stotch, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Tweek Tweak, Past Drug Use, Past Stan/Wendy Testaburger, Slow Burn, Tweek is a bit of an ass, please end me lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_Jew/pseuds/Chaotic_Jew
Summary: Y'know, you never expect a letter on your bedroom that's written in almost perfect calligraphy taped to your door that says: "We're moving back to South Park in 2 days, pack all your stuff up". I read the message over and over hoping that the destination would change from my hometown to somewhere else in Idaho.I've been gone for about seven years almost eight now. I left in the summer of fourth grade, that was leading up to fifth grade. I never told anybody that I was leaving. Not my friends, especially not my enemies, and most importantly, not even my best friend. I would assume that they all think I'm dead, finally after all that consumption of cocaine and coffee. But that wasn't the case, sadly.Now, I'm going back to see most of everybody in the flesh and not in old Polaroid photos. I honest to God hope my best friend has left that memory behind, left me to be forgotten. His name rolls off the tongue so smoothly, just like a Corvette pulling into the driveway. How can I forget?Craig Tucker.Maybe he's forgotten. Oh, how I hope. I hope he's erased me from his memory. Now all I need to do is find out when I come back. To my little, quiet, redneck, white trash, mountain town, South Park.





	It's More Than a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Song: More Than A Feeling - Boston

The city of Denver slowly disappears as the Uhaul truck turns onto highway two eighty-five. Country houses and barns soon get smaller and smaller from the rear-view mirror I look from. The landscape from outside this very window turns into a fresh rocky landscape with an abundance of evergreen trees and thin rivers that die off quickly as it gets closer to Colorado's capital. Everything on this side of the highway is green, yellow, and other dead looking colors. The other side is just a mirrored version of what I can see, except maybe there is a couple of other cars, a little more grass, and another side of the road to look at, nothing very interesting about it. 

From the radio some country songs play, I don't particularly like country music, but whenever my family and I go on long unstructured trips like this, my dad, Richard, normally plays music to fill the silence of the truck. It's something other than talk, which I am sort of thankful for. Country is better than most pop songs today, in my opinion. If it was any other day though, my dad would put on some overly upbeat pop songs that just begin to repeat after each other like a broken record would get stuck on the same disc. Overall, I'd much rather listen to my own music. But that option is out the window, my phone is dead and my earbuds are shoved under the seat messily. My charger is somewhere in a brown leather suitcase haphazardly put behind my seat. I would have to get out of the Uhaul in order to grab it, and I'm completely positive nobody is willing to stop just so a seventeen going on eighteen-year-old boy can grab something so minuscule.

Clover green eyes roll to the back of my head as I turn away to look out the front window instead. My mother and father talk about something, maybe it's about houses, coffee, or other, I don't care to take part in. My blonde hair, that now reaches to my slender shoulders, whips over my pale freckled face wildly. If I open my mouth, I can taste the golden bits of DNA that grow from my head. I feel someone's eyes on me, I take a quick glance to see that my mother is looking directly at my face, eyebrows furrowed on her forever young face. I twitch, my own brows creasing the bridge of my nose.

"Nnngg...What?" I ask, getting a mouth full of hair. I jolt up and my hands fly to my mouth to remove the pieces of hair that had invaded the hole where I eat, talk, and sometimes brush my teeth. After removing the hair, I look wide-eyed at my mother who keeps a resting face. 

"You've been quiet this whole time Tweek." She says, a certain calmness in her voice. Out of the whole seven and a half hours that I haven't been talking, you just now notice? I've been sleeping for about four since they both did wake me up as soon as I fell asleep, so three in the morning, I've been awake for seven, for five hours I was on my phone doing whatever to distract myself, then it died. About two hours ago we stopped to grab some stuff from a '7-11' and go to the bathroom. I got my items as quickly as I could and went to the bathroom first because I'm well aware that if I was the last out, they probably would've left my skinny ass. They've done it once before and I'm sure they'll do it again. And now, we have about three hours to go. Three hours of scenery with nothing but country music, parents, and my own thoughts to keep me entertained. I shrug off my mother's question with a jerky lift of my shoulders and a soft hum. She smiles with her red lips and turns to my father and continues on their lost conversation. They're always so quick to ignore, aren't they?

I roll over and stare at the road that flies by. The yellow lines and the blacktop rolls ocean-like under the vehicle. Occasionally I spot a glass shard or a large rock, but it's nothing more than something you may accidentally run over. Something about this sends a calming shiver throughout my whole body and my eyelids sag downward. There's a sudden need for sleep that I ache for. Might as well sleep the boring away and get on with the chase instead of comment on every little detail on what's going on outside. I lift up my elbows, crossing them and tucking my chin into my arms. A chilly breeze sweeps my hair to the side as my calm breaths become sounder. Finally, something to do.  
\---  
After a while, I don't know how long, I wake up to the slow halt of the car and my body hunched over my legs and my blonde hair disheveled. There was a prickly cold sensation on my arms even though it must be an easy fifty or sixty degrees out. I feel a soft hand shake my bony shoulder and I lift myself up, smelling fresh air and evergreen. My eyes feel dry and heavy, I blink a few times to adjust my sight. There, I see a maroon colored house, two stories tall and looking vaguely familiar. Is this the old house that I spent many years building model trains and airplanes? 

I blink, hand gripping the handle of the car door, absent-mindedly opening the door and swinging my legs out. I hop out with a soft thump on the driveway. I take a view of what once used to be my old home back in my youth, it's a bit more unkempt from what I remember. Mom used to grow rose bushes on the front lawn and have sunflowers growing in a plant pot by the front door. Now, all that's wilted or gone. Maybe the previous owner was some grumpy old guy that only could see in variants of grey and brown. I wouldn't be too surprised actually, living in such a shitty town like South Park could make anyone despise existing. 

I immediately turn around and begin to shuffle through the mounds of items stacked in, under, and behind my seat. The first things that I pull out are the brown leather suitcase and my phone that has knotted earbuds attached to them. I think nothing of it and shove the rectangular device into my pocket and grip tightly to the handle of the suitcase. The black plastic feels good against my fingers. 

After I get all of the things of 'importance' out of my seat, I slam the door shut to make sure it won't open unless I yank on the handle again. But that won't be in forever, so I think I'm fine in that part. I let a long sigh out of my lungs as if there was built up pressure inside. I start to head towards the door, the path of concrete that leads up to it is cracked and weeds grow through the cracks. Seven years ago, I used to draw with chalk with my old buddies. We mostly drew misshaped penises and big titty goth girls, and when we came back to look at our works of art in my driveway, it would be all washed away by either snow or rain. It sucks because we worked damn hard on our masterpieces. Come to think of it, I still have that chalk and whenever I get bored I just grab a piece of paper and doodle stupid shit on it. I have a whole binder filled with those sketches from Freshman year all the way up to now. I ought to look through it at some point. I twitch involuntarily and start my way up towards the house. 

The Oakwood door that is lined with silver at the bottom and top, it looks like it had been slammed shut multiple times. This house needs a good renovating. I observe near the more shallow parts of the house, the paint starts to peel upward along with the wood. I stand hunched forward, my eyes wide and an uneven frown takes place on my normally blank facade. Most would describe me as quite pert and restive, especially while in class. Yeah, lots of people found that to be annoying. But I can't help being a fidgety cunt that is (what people have said under their breaths) terrified of everything that moves and stands still. Although that may be true in some ways, I'm not completely panicked about every small thing in my way. But I've been that way for most of my life, but I swear I've gotten better. I tried my best with whatever medication, whatever methods to get an ounce of dopamine in my system, and so far I think it has been working. 

My slender hand reaches for the door handle, I can only guess that it's unlocked. I turn it slowly as if some ghost or tall man was going to jump out at me and sock me in the mouth. But no, that doesn't happen. Instead, I find myself being greeted by ugly olive-colored walls and a yellow carpet that reminds me of stomach acid. I internally hurl and take a foot in, the carpet feels odd under my sneakers since in my previous home had wood flooring. Leaning back and feeling my wild hair slide off my shoulders and hit my back, I inhale the scent of my old house. Man, it really smells like old people or just really sweet. Too sweet actually. 

There's no furniture inside this house, at least not yet. We'll soon have a velvet red couch and a functioning coffee machine in the living room. Although I don't drink much black coffee anymore, I've substituted that with tea. I look straight through the window and look into the kitchen.  
I could see through the window of the back door. The same old backyard sits there. Porch and pine tree, it has it all. I smile a bit, my eyes squinting to my upturned lips. There's something so unfamiliar about this but also feeling a sense of comfort in it. A tingling feeling creeps across my skull. Home. 

After taking in the scenery of the bottom half of my house, I begin to untie my shoes and slide them near the door frame about a foot to the right. It has always been a rule that you take your shoes off at the front door and put them over to the side. Well, it's always been that way for my family. 

The house is cold despite the homey nearly warm, even relaxing perception it has on the outside. I could've sworn when I was younger I used to be resistant to this kind of weather. I guess I've just adapted to the warmth of summer in Idaho rather than the chilly mountain town of South Park. I've got jackets and sweaters by the dozens, surviving through the seasons will be a breeze. Well, that is if I don't freeze over in the winter. ...Or die in a pack of famished wolves. God, don't get my wired mind jogging on possible fatalities happening to me this year. 

I begin to examine the house from carpet to ceiling. Yeah, just how I remember the shape but not the color. My lanky legs pick themselves up as I begin towards the kitchen. I peer in, seeing fresh oak wood cabinets and a sleek black marble topping the counters. It surely looked revamped in here there is newly replaced kitchen appliances. I step in, socks gliding against the yellow tile. This room isn't that large, nor is it suffocatingly small. It's enough for at least a nuclear family. By the end of this week, no doubt that seventy-five percent of this house will be furnished. My bedroom will be the very last thing to be finished though. Like before, I was the last thing taken care of. 

I take a deep inhale and exhale, running fingers through my bedraggled golden locks. I turn abruptly and make haste towards the staircase. Exploring places that you once found comfort in many years ago when being reintroduced to it again is an uncomfortable and unsettling feeling inside the bottom pit of my stomach. I feel like I'm a stranger. That's a funny thing to think about, but it's true. Conflicting. My hands grip the fencing of the stairs as I go upward to a hallway. Up there, I immediately see three doors. It's easy to tell which ones are what exactly. At the far end of the hallway, there's the bathroom, a place I will most likely be using for more... personal uses, not for just the intended. But that's unimportant at this time. The other two doors, that's easy too. The places you'll sleep and watch videos on your phone or computer until three in the morning on a school night. Clover eyes scan the mint green walls on either side until I decide to get bored and descend the stairs again. It appears my extravagant adventure through the house has finally come to an end. 

I slip back on my converse and head back outside. Oh what fun, there are already boxes outside for me to take in. I'll begin that immediately. 

\---

With a huff, I flop down on the air mattress my body jumps up and down. I let my eyes gaze upward towards the ceiling. I examine the cracks of age on the white paint. This is my soon-to-be bedroom. The walls are brick red and the carpet is a grass green. I mindlessly trace circles into the green carpet, thinking about nothing but sleep. For the remainder of the day, my parents and I moved boxes in and out. Most of my stuff was labeled in black sharpie on the top of the tan boxes in big bold letters that read 'Tweek'. I didn't have to move much, maybe about six at the very least. At least they had the thought to bring in air mattresses, although they did forget to bring pillows and blankets. Man, I'd kill for a soft and comfortable blanket right now. 

I toss over on my side and face boxes of all shapes and sizes in the corner of my bedroom. One of them, however, catches my off-colored eyes. I squint and let my eyes fix onto the smaller box. The moonlight from the windowsill makes the rectangular container more prominent amongst the others. I push myself off the mattress and walk over, putting my fingers on the box then proceeding to lift it up and take it back to the temporary bed. I sit cross-legged on the mattress fingers gliding over the top of the box picking at the tape that seals it shut. My nails dig and rip at the tape until there's enough to eventually peel off. I rip off the tape, the sound that transpires from the ripping makes me want to grind my teeth to dust. Some of the tan cardboard is pulled off along with the discarded tape. My boney fingers open the box with ease. Thankfully it's the right side up. 

Upon seeing the items--no, pictures, inside the box I had a perplexed feeling go over me. These photos are old, telling by the coating of dust over everything. I blow over the pictures, the dust flying up into the air and causing me to sneeze momentarily. I decide to pick up one of the photos to take a closer look at it. 

From a first glance, I can already tell there are two people in it. One of them is me, for some reason polaroid cameras tend to focus heavily on my eyes. My left one is browner than the other, but that's only noticeable if you stare long enough. No matter, I look to the right and see a girl there. Oh! This must've been at least a couple years ago. The girl in the photo has deep brown hair that curls perfectly around her figure. A bright smile and soft round features. In fact, we both look incredibly happy in this picture. I flip it to the back and see my scratchy handwriting, 'Me and Lucy!' There are hearts scattered about the Polaroid. Lucy... Was she a girlfriend of mine? I don't remember. I flip it back to the photo of us, thumb running over the image carefully. Although I do find myself having crushes on girls once in a great while, I prefer men the most. It's been that way ever since I can remember. 

I put the photo back into the box and shuffle through randomly to find something new. I find something near the bottom of the box, I pull it out and look for a quick second before reeling back. Below on the small space under the picture of what looks like me but with short hair and another kid with a blue chullo hat, it reads 'Fireworks! 7/4 Stark's Pond. Craig and Tweek'. Craig? Who's Craig? Looking back at the picture I look deeper into it. It's night time, obviously, and in the sky, there are bright colors of yellow, red, and royal purple. Every colorful sparkle looks like it's dancing behind me and ...Craig... in different patterns. My eyes fall to the children in the scene. From what I can tell we're holding packs color bombs, snakes, and firecrackers. Both of our smiles are crooked, I didn't have the straightest teeth back then neither did blue boy next to me. The more I looked at Craig something in my fucked up head switched. Craig, the kid that I got into a fight with in third grade, then later had to talk with him in the hospital because we literally had beds next to each other, after talking we quickly became inseparable? That Craig?

My stomach sinks into a hollow pit. Craig can't be able to remember me after seven, eight, years. That's way too long to be holding onto somebody. Well, I would be a hypocrite if I said I just dropped him when I left this town. I thought about him every day for a constant three years. Then slowly but surely the name became to go away, finally. A rush of panic flows over me as I begin rerunning through third grade and fourth grade all over again. This is more than just a feeling. I'm thinking about old friends, and that stupid shit we did, the head-over-heels way that my heart raced every time I saw who I considered being my very own 'Super Best Friend'. Then there's the ending. My parents told me we had two days to move, just like this time. I felt so bitter and reluctant when I was told we'd be moving half the country away from Colorado. I would cry in protest every hour of the day, begging to stay. I never told anyone, not even Craig because I thought after all my wailing that we'd stay. But that just hurried the process. The week after school was out I went to Craig's house. All of our friends were there. We were having so much fun. That is until I had to leave for what I thought was for good. I broke down into hot tears, everyone asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't say anything. The words, "I'm moving away" just never came out. I remember specifically that I turned to them all as I was trying to go out the door of the brown house that I imagined so vividly and said, "Whatever you do, don't forget me, okay?". It might've sounded so odd to them because how can they forget when I live about three streets away right? But it meant so much more to me their answer than my words. Nobody wants to be forgotten by anyone. It's been stuck with me for the longest time. Their response "How can we? We'll just see you again tomorrow, Tweek." But they wouldn't see me tomorrow. They wouldn't see me in a year, two years, hell, even half a decade. Most of them probably don't even live here anymore. As I was going out to the driveway, Craig the crazy bastard got up from the couch without any shoes on, walked outside and gave me a hug as usual. He told me that he'd call me later that night and see if we could schedule something for the following day. I said okay, and got in the car that would take me thousands of miles away. Later on that night he called me while we were driving down the highway, stuff packed into the vehicle, I let it ring. He called me again, and again, eventually, I just shut off my phone and didn't check it for days. When I looked at it for the first time in a while, there were missed calls, text messages, and everything from Craig and other people. Some of them reached the double digits. 

I look back down at the picture after getting lost in my head for God knows how long. I set the picture to the side and put the box near the head of the mattress. I swallow hard and lay down, blonde hair tickling my neck and cheeks. A heavyweight sets itself on my chest as I slowly start to close my eyes. Suddenly it feels like I am falling and everything is black. 

I fall asleep, the photo lays next to me silently. The soft sounds of crickets and night owls hum outside. Craig slips away from my mind only briefly. What happened to make everything feel so...strange. I'm such a stranger in my own hometown, and school only starts in a week. I wonder if I'll run into any familiar faces. I'll worry when the time comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first South Park Fic I have ever written and decided to post online. I'm actually pretty nervous about posting this since I'm a bit awkward about sharing my work online. It's going to take me a while to crank out chapters one after another. Inspiration has a big part in that. I'm hoping to be posting a lot of this throughout the summer since this is the most free time I'll have for a while. Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I like writing it. Have fun and enjoy your stay! I'll see you in the next chapter!


End file.
